


I Saw The Harbor Lights (They Told Me We Were Parting)

by RocksCanFly



Category: DCU, DCU (Animated), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breaking: Two Morons Swim In Star City Harbor, But That's Kind Of A Superhero Thing, Gills, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kaldur Is More Of An Idiot Than People Realize, M/M, Neither Of Them Make Good Life Choices, Past Drug Addiction, Pre-Invasion, Rimming, Roy Harper is Not An Idiot, Stargazing, isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6006478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocksCanFly/pseuds/RocksCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Kaldur’s last night before he puts his and Dick’s plan into action. And he’s going to spend it with his boyfriend. </p><p>Or, In Which Kaldur And Roy Go On A Date And Everything Is Beautiful And Nothing Hurts</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw The Harbor Lights (They Told Me We Were Parting)

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'd like to give a shout out to my three awesome betas! Rockymthorrorshow, ShadesNinde, and Ginger-Wonderfly. All of them are wonderful and can be found on tumbr.com under the same names. 
> 
> Secondly, happy Valentines Day, everyone! I'm certain this fun, fluffy, not-at-all-tragic-what-are-you-talking-about fic will brighten your day and leave you with ALL the warm fuzzies. Only laughter and awws here, folks. After all, when has Young Justice *ever* been angsty or filled with over-wrought drama caused entirely by people being bad at communicating with and trusting each other? 
> 
> Thirdly, the fic title is from the old jazz standard Harbor Lights, a wonderful rendition of which could be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvYnA8uTJD8

Kaldur surveys his room one more time before he leaves. He’s left it clean and orderly, cleared away the usual detritus of books from the library and mission reports. He wants to make it easy for the Team to make space for whoever comes to replace him.

It’s his last night before he puts his and Dick’s plan into action. And he’s going to spend it with his boyfriend.

It’s been at least a month since they've last seen each other, he realizes as he locks the door behind him. Admittedly Kaldur himself has been gone in Atlantis for two weeks of that before he came back to the surface to get his affairs in order. But, still.

When Tula—when Kaldur realized that something needed to be done about the Light, something _drastic_ , Roy was off chasing a lead for Speedy. He’d dropped off the face of the earth for that whole month, so deep undercover in a Beijing that he couldn't afford radio contact.

Until two nights ago, when he appeared in The Cave and pulled Kaldur into a tight hug.

Roy hadn’t been able to stay long, something about de-briefing with the League and Oliver. But he’d made Kaldur promise to spend the night in Star City with him two nights from then. Tonight.

Kaldur had been dreading tonight before then. He didn’t know whether he should spend it in his room alone, to further the idea that he was withdrawing further and further from the Team, or if he should do the opposite. Spend it in their company, have one last night at their side to carry him through the months to come.

He hadn’t known what to do about Roy, about the fact that they wouldn’t get to say goodbye. About the bitterness that’s been building in his chest since Kaldur called him and no one answered.

But now Roy’s made the choice for him. Tonight is theirs, and they intend to make the most of it. Before he leaves, Kaldur gives the Team gentle but explicit orders not to contact him unless the circumstances are dire. Normally Nightwing or Artemis would crack a joke, make a jab, but the look Wally has in his eyes when Kaldur steps towards the zeta tube says that jokes are beyond all of them these days.

Kaldur wishes for the days when that man was a boy who didn't know or didn't care to read the atmosphere. Things were brighter then.

* * *

 As he exits the zeta into Star City, Kaldur tries desperately not to think of another red-head who looked at him with pity. He passes by an advertisement, and the eyes of the woman in the photo are so close to her sea-glass green that his breath catches in his chest. After a shock-stilled moment, he rips his eyes away, gills flapping uselessly beneath his collar as he half-runs to his best friend’s apartment.

He doesn’t have time to mourn. And what would the point be, of mourning what he’s lost so far? Especially when there’s still so much left that he will soon lose?

When Kaldur reaches Roy's door, he stops. Hesitates. Two months ago he would have let himself in without a thought. But there's been a—a _distance._ Something small but significant, stretching out impossibly wide between them.

He can’t remember when he first noticed it.

Kaldur lingers a moment, takes note somewhere in the back of his mind of the chipping paint, the molding doormat. The signs of neglect, decay. Considers, for a moment, letting things go the way they are now. Hates himself, because the ease of it is tempting and leaving things like this _shouldn’t_ be easier.

Shalain'ah of Shayeris did not raise a coward. Kaldur steels himself, unlocking and opening the door with one smooth motion.

There has never been a worse time for his hesitation. 

The living room is deserted, as is the small adjoining kitchen. Kaldur can hear the sounds of the shower running in the bedroom. A fond smile touches his lips. Roy is running late, as usual.

Kaldur clears a space on the couch, neatly setting aside papers and stacks of files. He half collapses into the lumpy cushioning, allowing the familiarity of the apartment to wash over him- its organized mess, the oddly pleasant smell of Roy's bitter teas (Navajo recipe, of course. Not 'that European shit'), the ever spreading water stain on the kitchen ceiling...

 

Kaldur relaxes further into the couch, tipping his head back, allows himself to shut his eyes. He still feels safe here, at least. The sensations, the sounds of Roy’s apartment (the slowly whirling fan, the rattle of the air conditioner) send him drifting into memories.

Kaldur thinks amusedly of the romantic films that M'gann was fond of choosing for the team movie night. His and Roy's idea of a date was apparently... unconventional, to say the least, by land standards. Fewer picnics in the park or starlit walks, more rooftop chases, drug busts, and marine life rescue operations.

Kaldur laughs quietly to himself, remembering the look on Roy's face when their second date transformed from dinner at a nice restaurant on the pier to an impromptu rescue mission for a group of lobsters (being Atlantean, Kaldur did not mind the eating of lobsters. It was the boiling alive part that made him uncomfortable, for obvious reasons).

He recalls the look on Roy's face as they released the creatures into the harbor from the docks, half fondly exasperated, half pained (a particularly tenacious claw clung to the skin between his thumb and forefinger). The memory makes Kaldur smile softly. A laugh escapes him, taking much of the tension in his chest with it.

He stops, catching himself. Not five minutes in Roy's apartment, and he's laughed for the first time in weeks.

It feels _good_. Better than anything has felt for a very long time.

Or _will_ for even longer, if he follows through with what he’s planning.

Kaldur's heart clenches. He breathes deep, forcing it to relax.

He has some time. Not much, but some. It will have to be enough.

(It won’t be. He knows it won’t be. But he needs to practice lying to people anyways, and he might as well start with himself)

There’s the sound of footsteps. The shower has been turned off. Kaldur tilts his head to the side slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes. A warm presence, damp and smelling of soap, stops behind the couch. Strong arms wrap around his shoulders from behind.

Kaldur flushes, a familiar heat in his cheeks, allowing himself to press into the warm chest behind him for a moment before opening his eyes to stare up into amused blue.

Roy smirks down at him, raising a brow.

“How long’ve you been waiting?” Roy says softly, leaning down to press his mouth chastely against Kaldur’s own.

“Mm. Not very long, my friend. I know better by now then to bother arriving early,” Kaldur replies, pulling Roy in deeper, fingers sliding through damp red locks.

Roy allows himself to be pulled in. They share a few more warm kisses before he pulls away, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to sluice some of the water off. “Sorry for running late. Dinah dropped in earlier, and we got caught up. She’s thinking about proposing to Ollie, ‘cause he doesn’t have the balls to ask her. Don’t tell him. She promised that if she went through with it she’d save a picture of his face and send it to me.”

Kaldur smiles. “I’m sure it will be amusing to behold. Green Arrow has never been overly fond of surprises.”

Roy shifts, leaning forward to rest his arms on the couch. His hair smells clean. A bead of water traces a line down from his neck to his clavicle. Kaldur makes a small noise, wipes the droplet gently away. Roy smiles, rests a hand on Kaldur’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly against the bump of the other’s spine.

“I know, right? Which begs the question as to why the poor fuck keeps inviting people like me and Dinah into his life. Oh well,” Roy stands back up, stretches a little more. Leers down. “I’m gonna get dressed. Wanna join me?”

Kaldur snorts softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Although it _has_ been a while since we last attempted to ‘get dressed’ together, I am not as eager as you to abandon tonight’s plans. I remember whose turn it is to pay for dinner. So, tempting as your offer is,” here Kaldur pauses to run his eyes exaggeratedly over Roy’s bare chest, smirking warmly. “I would rather that you ‘hurry the fuck up’.”

Roy laughs, a soft chuckle. “I’ve missed you too, fishsticks. Don’t worry, you’ll get your sushi.”

“And my _saestrus_?” Kaldur teases, brushing a hand against Roy’s stubbled cheek. “You need to shave, _alieros_.”

Roy snatches Kaldur’s wrist gently, turning his face to press a kiss into Kaldur’s dark palm. “I thought you liked a bit of scruff,” Roy teases, gazing down at him with a soft smile. “Something about the way it feels when I—“ a beat, and Roy’s smile stretches into a filthy grin.

Sensing what’s coming, Kaldur tries to escape, only to be held down by his captured wrist and the strong, bare arm that’s suddenly wrapped around his chest, pinning him in place. Roy leans over the couch, bending at the waist so his face is level with Kaldur’s own.

“—do this,” he finishes with a flash of teeth, and nuzzles his stubbly cheeks into Kaldur’s neck. The rough scrape of the short hairs teases sensitive gills, causing Kaldur to squirm and laugh.

“Cease, villain!” he manages through helpless giggles, trying to wriggle away from his attacker. Roy just chuckles, pressing on for a few more rough passes before turning his head to mouth at the abused flesh. He alternates gentle, chaste kisses and teasing licks to the smooth brown column of flesh presented to him. The hands holding Kaldur still loosen their grip, one brushing down to grope appreciatively at the Atlantean’s chest. The other hand creeps up from his captured wrist to lightly intertwine fingers with his own, cautious of the delicate webbing there.

“ ‘S not fair to call me a villain,” Roy says playfully as he presses another prickly kiss to Kaldur’s neck, causing the other man to squirm and sigh. “It’d take a saint to resist, when you make noises like _this_ ,” Roy emphasizes, dipping the tip of his tongue just under to flap of a gill, teasing the hyper-sensitive flesh and drawing a low moan from his victim.

“Saint or sinner,” the trapped man manages, and reaches up his free hand to guide Roy’s face towards his own. Kaldur kisses him softly, one chaste peck on each cheek and ending with a slow, soft one to the mouth. Roy leans in, enthusiastic, tongue pushing against soft lips as if to beg for entrance. Said lips lift into a playful smile of their own, and draw away. “I’m starving,” Kaldur finishes, disentangling himself easily and getting up from the couch. He heads over to the front door, slapping his boyfriend’s conveniently presented ass as he passes. Roy flails, tipping over the back of the coach and landing in an ungraceful heap, face first.

“Get dressed, _alieros_ ,” Kaldur calls over his shoulder as he opens the door. “I will await you outside, since you’re obviously unable to behave yourself in my presence.”

“You’re one to talk, you cheeky bastard,” Roy grumbles into the cushion, rubbing his ass where Kaldur’s slap connected. It _stung_. “Be out in a bit,” he says as the door closes, and heads to his room to dress.

* * *

The ride to the sushi bar— _their_ bar, really, with how often they’ve gone there—is uneventful. Kaldur clings tightly to Roy’s waist as they speed through the busy, twisting streets of Star City. Even though they both have their helmets on, he could swear that he can smell the worn leather of Roy’s jacket if he tries hard enough. The ghost of tobacco smoke and gasoline settles in his chest, a comforting weight.

When they dismount in the parking lot Roy kisses him, soft and hungry. They stay like that, helmets held loosely in their hands, until Kaldur pulls back.

Roy’s hair is a mess. Kaldur laughs, running one hand through it, trying in vain to smooth it down. “You need a haircut, my dear,” he says fondly.

Roy catches his hand in one of his own, presses a kiss to long, dark fingers. “I don’t know,” he replies. “You seem to like it. You sure you don’t want me to grow it out?”

“You would not take care of it,” Kaldur answers, setting his helmet down on the motorcycle. “You’d look like a vagrant, with long hair and your emerging beard.”

“I was thinking rock-star,” Roy says smoothly, setting his own helmet down before wrapping an arm around Kaldur’s shoulder. His hand is warm through the fabric of Kaldur’s sweater, and Kaldur leans into it as they make their way inside. “Hey, Mei,” he greets the woman manning the counter. “Can we get the usual?”

“Haven’t seen your sorry ass around recently, Harper,” the woman shoots back, slicing tuna for nigiri. “Hello, Kal,” she greets, not bothering to look up.

“We’ve been busy,” Roy says as they make their way to their usual table. The bar is warm and friendly, made of dark wood and decorated with pictures of historic Star City. “But I knew you missed my face, so we thought we’d swing by.”

“As if anyone but your boyfriend could miss your ugly mug,” Mei dismisses, coming over to the table with a glass and a small, dark bottle in hand. “Here’s your _saestrus_ , beautiful,” she says to Kaldur, setting them down in front of him with a soft _clink_. “I’ll have your pink monstrosity out in a bit, Harper.”

“Thank-you, Mei,” Kaldur says, smiling softly. She grins back, turning back to the bar to prepare their order. It’s a slow night and the bar is mostly empty besides them. Which isn’t unusual, considering they’ve arrived before the dinner rush and on a weekday, at that.

Kaldur pours himself a measure of _saestrus_ , sighing happily as the thick liquor _glugs_ from the bottle.

Roy gazes at him dubiously, shrugging off his jacket and placing it next to himself on the soft leather seat of the booth. “I’ll never understand how you drink that stuff.”

Kaldur ignores him for a moment, taking some time to sip his drink. The taste—salty and fresh, like a cup of life in Shayeris—lingers on his tongue after he swallows. It goes down swift and cool, just the way land-made alcohol never manages. “You’re one to talk. My species _needs_ a high salt intake to survive, whereas you…” Kaldur gestures at the drink Mei is bringing over, tall and pink, with a blue paper umbrella popping out over the rim. “No one needs that much sugar.”

Roy shrugs as he accepts the drink from Mei, grinning as he takes a long, obnoxious sip. “But most of us like it,” he replies, smacking his lips together. “And at least mine doesn’t taste like anchovies.”

Kaldur reels back dramatically, affecting an offended tone. “Of all the delicacies my homeland has to offer, you would pick anchovies to compare _saestrus_ to?” he says, all mock hurt. “You wound me, my friend.”

Roy grins over the top of his drink, taking the umbrella to spin nimbly between his fingers. “Wounding isn’t exactly what I’d planned to do to you tonight,” the grin stretches, going from playful to filthy in the span of a second. “But if that’s what it takes to defend _my_ homeland’s proud tradition of fruity pink beverages? Then I guess it’ll have to do.”

 _Oh_ , Kaldur thinks to himself. _Is that the game you wish to play?_

Matching Roy’s smile with a gentle smirk of his own, Kaldur stretches his arms up and behind above his head slowly, making sure to do it in a way that pulls the fabric of his sweater back against the muscles of his chest.  “And what _did_ you plan to do to me tonight?” he replies softly, one brow raised. Roy reddens, and a warm satisfaction settles in Kaldur’s chest.

The other man coughs, takes a sip of his drink. “Well…” he says slowly, seemingly engrossed in his drink. Kaldur’s smirk widens, and the Atlantean takes a triumphant sip of his own.

But then Roy looks up to meet him again, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. “There _was_ something involving burying my face in between your thighs until you came so hard you passed out…”

 _Saestrus_ is less than pleasant when snorted through the nose. “Roy!” Kaldur sputters, and he can feel blood rushing to his ears.

Roy laughs at him, passing him a napkin. “What? You asked!” he chuckles.

Kaldur mops up the mess on the table. “In public?” he admonishes, nowhere near as offended as he is pretending.

“Well I was planning on waiting till we got back to my apartment but if you’re into that… Ow! Hey, c’mon fishsticks. You know I bruise easily,” Roy complains, rubbing the spot where Kaldur punched him from across the table.

“One of your few good qualities,” Kaldur grumbles, satisfied with the dramatically wounded look Roy shoots him.

“Oh, is that how it is?”

Another sip of _saestrus_. Kaldur’s tongue is feeling looser. “Perhaps.”

Roy polishes off his own drink, then fixes Kaldur with a look. “So me having to wear a turtleneck for a week last time we got to do this. That was intentional? You’re lucky you’re such a great catch, Kal.”

“Are you still upset?” Kaldur chuckles, smirking over his drink as he takes a long sip. He catches Roy’s eyes fixing on his throat as he swallows and flushes, pleased. “Roy, that was months ago.”

“Wait. Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Silence falls on their little corner of the bar, heavy and uncomfortable. Roy is glancing away, out the window and into the harbor. His shoulders are tense, fingers tapping against his glass. The guilt in him couldn’t be any more obvious, and something _vicious_ in Kaldur’s heart thrills to see it.

He’s known since Roy greeted him in the apartment that the other man doesn’t realize just how long it’s been. Kaldur loves Roy, but Roy’s always been self-centered, if not necessarily selfish. Caught up in the guilt of chasing Speedy, the pain of feeling Oliver drift further away from him—Roy hasn’t seen the distance beginning to stretch out between himself and Kaldur.

And that’s understandable. It’s even comforting, in a way. That Roy can’t seem to imagine a reality where he and Kaldur could ever grow apart. But that hurts, too. It hurts a lot, especially because of. Because of what he has to do now.

This night has been so... _Nice_. And of course it’d be _banter_ , of all things, that would wake him from this pleasant dream, this warm, gentle fantasy where he and Roy are the type of people who can go on dates and know that they’ll wake up together in the morning. It is an easy thing to forget, those months of distance, when they snap so perfectly back in place the moment they’re near.

He wonders, staring into the swirling green-black depths of his drink, if they’ll still be able to do that. After.

“Hey,” Roy says, snapping Kaldur from his reverie. He reaches out, takes one of Kaldur’s hands in his own. Rubs his thumb over his knuckles soothingly. There’s a new scar on his thumb, one Kaldur doesn’t know how he got, and it makes something in the Atlantean’s chest ache.

“We’re here now,” Roy says, as if it could be so simple. But then he squeezes his hand tight around Kaldur’s hand, a gesture that tells Kaldur that Roy knows it's not, and that he’s sorry, and something loosens in Kaldur’s chest.

He has missed this, the easy ebb and flow between them. Since coming here, to the surface, he’s come to think of it as his own personal tide, there to bear him up against the weight of the world and to pull him back to shore when he gets too caught in his own thoughts.

“Yes, you are,” Mei interrupts, setting their plates down between them. Roy, as usual, has ordered some sort of roll, bright and complicated and (judging off a one-time experience that Kaldur would rather not repeat) tasting very _little_ like fish. Kaldur’s own food is simpler fare, large slices of tuna and eel accompanied by a bowl of brown rice.

“And I’d better be seeing more of you two,” Mei continues, grabbing Roy’s empty glass.  “Unless  you want me hunting you down. Otherwise this place is full of hipsters and college kids. They’re too loud for my old soul, and having _this_ hooligan,” here Mei reaches out and ruffles Roy’s hair, who bears the gesture with only a slight reddening of his ears, “Glowering at them from the corner tends to get them to shut up. Or at least to switch their order to take-out.”

Roy chuckles, shaking the woman off with feigned annoyance. “Don’t worry, Mei, we’ll be around a little more often from now on.”

As Roy finishes his statement he catches Kaldur’s other hand and holds the two between his own. He looks at Kaldur and, despite the grin and teasing tone, his gaze is serious.

“I’ve just been getting some priorities in order,” Roy says softly, and Kaldur realizes with a heady rush that this isn’t just a promise to Mei to come visit her restaurant more often.

“Have you?” he replies, mouth dry. He wants a drink, of _saestrus_ or water he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. It would mean taking his hands from Roy’s and he—

—He doesn’t want to do that, right now.

“Yeah,” Roy says softly, and something in Kaldur _melts._

“I think I’ll leave you two to your food,” Mei says, obviously amused by their display. “I’ll be back with your refill, Harper.”

“I’ll take a coke, actually,” Roy says. He flashed her one of his sardonic grins. “Someone has to drive the bike.”

Mei shrugs, placing the empty glass on her tray. “Home?”

Roy’s grin stretches to sly, and he shoots Kaldur a mischievous glance from the corner of his eye.

“Not quite. It’s a secret- fishboy here doesn’t know yet.”

“How romantic,” she replies flatly, but a small smile tucked away in the corner of her mouth belies her sarcasm. “How about you, Kal? Feel like a refill?”

“One would not go amiss, thank-you,” Kaldur replies, distracted. Mei bustles away, leaving Kaldur staring at Roy attentively.

“A secret?” Kaldur echoes. He pours another measure of _saestrus_ into the small, porcelain cup. “I hope this isn’t another impromptu mission, Roy.”

Roy shakes his head. “No, no. Trust me- you’ll like it. Promise.” His ears color red again, and Kaldur is, not for the first time, hit by how rarely he gets to see this side of his friend. “I just hope you’re up for a long ride.”

Kaldur smiles demurely into his drink. “That depends,” he answers lightly. “Which of us is riding the other, and am I doing all of the work?”

Roy just looks at him blankly, eyebrows raised. “Your team never believes me when I tell them you’re a pervert.”

Kaldur laughs. “They _are_ a understandably reticent in their illusions about my sex life.”

A chuckle, deepthroated and warm. “Remember how they finally figured out that we were dating?”

“Of course—though I imagine that, of the three of us, Wally is the least likely to forget.”

* * *

By the time they pay the check and make their farewells to Mei, Kaldur is pleasantly buzzed. It's a simple thing, to sit closer to Roy on the bike as they head to some unknown (to Kaldur) point outside the city. On the way to the bar he had attempted some restraint. Now he presses in tight, going so far as to rub his thumb idly over the band of warm, soft skin that showed between Roy’s jeans and his white shirt.

“You okay back there, drunky?” Roy teases, voice coming in smooth and low through their comlink.

Kaldur squeezes the other man's hips, half to reassure him and half because he _can_.

“Yes,” he answers simply, and quiet falls between them as they speed out of the city, towards the verdant green of the forested foothills.

It’s dark by the time they reach their destination. Kaldur had fallen asleep, limbs loose and stomach warm with the _saestrus_. Roy jostles him gently when he brings the motorcycle to a stop.

“Hey,” he says gently, one hand big and warm on Kaldur’s wrist where it's wrapped around his waist. “Time to wake up, lightweight. _Look_.”

Kaldur grumbles, squeezing Roy closer to him as he blinks away sleep. Once his vision clears he peeps over Roy’s shoulder. Eyes widening, he takes in the view with a huff of incredulous laughter, delighted.

They’re on a cliff, overlooking the whole of Star City. It’s a sea of glimmering lights at their feet, surrounded by deep blue and green shadows of the ocean and the forested hills. The last bit of sunrise is fading on the horizon, giving a warm orange glow to the water in the distance.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long time.

Well, perhaps the most beautiful landscape, he corrects himself when Roy dismounts the cycle and turns to help him down. The man’s red hair catches the last of the fading sunlight, lighting up like a warm flame. His clear, blue eyes seem to outshine the city lights.

It’s the smile, though, that makes it. Roy’s grinning, eager and self-satisfied, more carefree than either of them have been in months, maybe years.

“You like it?” he prods, extending a gloved hand to help Kaldur down from the bike. “Wait till the sun fades—C’mon, we’ve got a bit of a hike from here.”

“You brought me up here to hike?” Kaldur takes Roy’s hand, dismounting. If he exaggerates his tipsiness and stumbles forward, forcing Roy to catch him, it’s no one’s business. Neither is the kiss they share, soft and warm, before Roy pulls him towards a trail leading upwards, further into the hills.

* * *

 The trail goes up to the top of the hills, to a flat, grassy mesa devoid of trees. It’s the highest point for miles, completely open beneath the night sky. It’s completely dark now, and most of the city lights have disappeared behind a curtain of trees.

“We’re here,” Roy pants when they reach the top. There was a time when such a short hike would have been nothing for him, but the last few years—especially the last few months—haven’t exactly been kind.

Kaldur pauses, hand still wrapped in Roy’s own. He surveys the mesa.

“What is ‘here’?” he questions as last. As far as he can tell, there’s just grass, and the view of the city was better down where they left the motorcycle.

In lieu of answering, Roy pulls him in for a kiss, pressing their intertwined hands together between their chests. His free hand settles in the small of Kaldur’s back, pushing him up and in. Still warm and careless from the _saestrus_ , Kaldur melts into it, soft mouth opening easily to Roy’s own, free arm slinging up to drape over his lover’s broad shoulder, webbed fingers stroking through the cool silk of his too-long hair.

Their mouths work against one another easily, the kiss deeper than the chaste ones they’ve been exchanging but still too gentle and slow to be called passionate. Roy’s hand is broad and warm on Kaldur’s back as it presses them together, tight enough that their hands start to go numb after the first few minutes.

Roy’s fingers squeeze Kaldur’s own gently, careful of the delicate webbing there. Roy releases Kaldur’s hand, keeping it trapped between them as he brings his own to wrap around the Atlantean’s back to his shoulder, embracing the other man tightly. Then, without warning, Roy sweeps Kaldur’s legs from under him and throws himself backwards, bearing them down into the soft grass with Kaldur atop him.

“ _Ooph_ \- Roy, what—” Kaldur exclaims, startled and a little annoyed. He’d been _enjoying_ that kiss.

Roy’s lips come up to catch him in another one, soft and sweet. Roy’s hands creep down to grab the other man by his hips, smoothing over the sharp juts of bone gently before gripping them firmly. In one smooth movement, he flips Kaldur over, manhandling him so the other man is lying back-to-chest atop of him, facing the sky.

“Look,” Roy breathes in his ear, and Kaldur _does_.

Kaldur’s lived his whole life beneath the sea or in a city. The few times he’s been out beneath a night sky, unclouded by light pollution, he’s been on a mission and too busy to really _look_ up.

It’s quite the sight.

Kaldur had thought the city lights dazzling—but they’re nothing compared to the uncountable multitude that hangs above him now. The sky is clear and dark, a black velvet backdrop to the brilliant diamonds of light, far away and yet somehow just out of reach. Some are bright and sharp, pinpricks—others are a like lanterns, softly glowing, spreading a diffuse corona of pure light across the whole of the world’s roof. There’s no moon out tonight, no gentle glow to compete with their sharper brilliance. The sight is like nothing he’s ever seen before. Kaldur’s breath catches in his throat, and he feels the warm weight of Roy’s arm tighten around him in silent agreement.

They lie like that, Kaldur pressed back into Roy’s chest, his head pillowed on the other man’s breast, the glow of the stars lighting up the world around them.

After a while, Roy’s free hand draws down to capture Kaldur’s own, and he twines their fingers together lightly before lifting their arms up, up towards the sky.

“That’s Polaris,” Roy says, breath tickling Kaldur’s neck as he guides their hands to point at one of the brightest stars. “People know it as the North Star. Sailors used to use it to guide them--back before compasses.”

“The ancient Atlanteans used such methods,” Kaldur responds softly, eyes fixed on their intertwining fingers rather than the star Roy gestured towards. “Back in the days before we had banished ourselves to the ocean. They were legendary sailors.”

“Why did they leave?”

Kaldur rests his free arm atop of Roy’s where it lies on his chest, covering the man’s other hand with his own. He squeezes it lightly. “It was for the best. We were far beyond the rest of the world in terms of magic, even in those days. The nations around us would send war parties occasionally, to try and take our secrets. They were destroyed with ease every time, of course. But they kept coming. Disappearing was the only way we could think of to stop the bloodshed and be allowed to practice our arts in peace.”

“So you cut yourselves away to protect the rest of us? Was that it?”

“It’s what I’m told.”

Roy scoffs. “That’s stupid. Why didn’t you just, I don’t know, share your magic?”

Kaldur snorts. “Why would we trust them, after what they had done? Besides, as much as magic is a useful tool, it is also a dangerous one. It is unpredictable, deadly—in the early days a sorcerer was as likely to kill themselves as they were to actually achieve the aim of a spell. I think the ancients wanted to make it safe, before they dared to share it.”

“So they didn’t want to share the burden,” Roy says softly in his ear, breath puffing across Kaldur’s face. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Kaldur laughs, turning his face to press a kiss against Roy’s cheek. “You’re one to talk.”

Roy’s eyes glimmer in the light. There’s mirth in there, but it's banked beneath something gentler.

“Fair,” he replies, unreadable, and turns their attention back to the sky.

“Sailors aren’t the only ones who use Polaris,” Roy says, eyes fixed back on that brightest of stars. “The Navajo—the people who raised me—use it and the four stars around it in a constellation called _Náhookos Biko'_. It means ‘home fire’. When I was a kid my uncle used to take me out on trips in the Mojave desert. No phones, no compasses, nothing but the clothes on our backs, some canteens of water, and our bows. My aunt would drop us off in the middle of some random stretch of wasteland and we’d have to make our way back,” he continues, voice going low and impossibly tender with memories. Kaldur squeezes his hand lightly, relaxes further into the man’s hold.

“He taught me how to move at night, and we’d always use _Nahookos Biko’_ to guide us back. He said it was the most important constellation of them all. Those four stars surrounding Polaris,” Roy moves their hands, pointing to each star in turn, “Represent the home, and it’s the fire burning in the middle. Two more constellations, _Náhookos Bika'ii_ and _Náhookos Bi'áadii_ , the mother and the father, circle it. Together they represent the family, and they’re the central system in Navajo astronomy.”

Roy goes quiet for a moment, lowers their raised arms to wrap around Kaldur’s chest, hugging him tight.

“We followed it, and it always brought us home,” he finishes, burying his face in the sparse softness of Kaldur’s hair. “Sometimes it’d take days, and we’d be sunburnt and exhausted and gross, but we always got _home_.”

Gently, Kaldur turns in Roy’s arms, so his forearms bracket the other man’s head. Roy’s eyes glow unbearably blue in the starlight, his hair takes a silvered sheen. The hollows in his eyes are thrown into relief, highlighting how exhausted, how _bone tired_ the other man must be.

Kaldur lowers his face, rests his forehead against Roy’s own. His eyes slip closed, he slides his fingers into the soft red length of Roy’s hair, holds him close.

“Do you still follow it?” he asks, lips centimeters away from Roy’s own. “Does it still guide you home?”

Roy shakes his head silently, the motion rocking them together. “Don’t need to,” he says, soft as a breeze. He lifts one hand from where it rests in the small of Kaldur’s back, rests the warm broadness of it on nape of his neck, presses the other man’s lips closer to his own, so they brush as he speaks. “I’ve got something else guiding me now, don’t I?”

Kaldur opens his eyes.

The stars are shining down brightly, and the look in Roy’s eyes so, _so_ gentle. There’s a vulnerability to him that Kaldur never sees outside of these moments, when it's just the two of them and the comfortable silence that fills the warm spaces between their bodies.

“I know I don’t say it often,” Roy says quietly, words white wisps of mist between them, delicate and transient. “But you know I’d be lost without you, right?”

Kaldur’s chest seizes, and it's all he can do not to run away, or to laugh, sharp and cutting, because oh, oh _gods_.

 _This will kill him_ , it dawns, horrible and creeping, like the sunrise before an execution. _I will leave, and he will be betrayed, and lost, and--_

“Come on patrol with me,” he says suddenly, jolting upright, his fingers slipping from Roy’s hair as he balances himself, leans his weight off of his friend.

He can feel the beat of his pulse in his toes. There’s a roll of thunder, low and distant. He eyes the clouds, momentarily forgotten, where they’re still approaching on the horizon, how they eat up the stars in the sky. He can feel the lighting building in the air. His nerves sing with the need for movement, for action and effort. He can’t fight what’s coming. But he needs to fight _something_. He is exhausted with _helplessness_ , and a patrol means the possibility of something, someone he can _fight_ , can _stop_.

Roy takes a moment, looks at Kaldur quizzically, a little annoyed. He notes that the how the other man’s eyes fix on the horizon, how the graceful lines of his neck tense with some unnamed anxiety. “I asked Ollie to cover for me tonight,” Roy says slowly, sitting up to lean into Kaldur’s warmth. He rubs his palm up and down the cool skin of the other’s back beneath his shirt, soothing. “Tonight’s supposed to be for us.”

“I know,” Kaldur says, to the stars, before turning to meet Roy’s gaze. “My apologies, my friend,” the words come out in a rush. “I just—I has been so long. I want something that feels like the old days. Like before—”

“—okay, okay, _yes_ ,” Roy breaks in, clasping Kaldur’s shoulder with his free hand. “You’re sober now, yeah? Our stuff’s on the bike, we’ll change, we’ll go. I get it. Just--” and here Roy takes Kaldur’s chin gently in hand, kisses him soft and chaste and so like their last ‘good-bye’ one month ago that Kaldur’s brain blanks. “—nothing stupid, okay?” Roy continues, still so close that his lips brush Kaldur’s own with every word. “I’ve pulled enough dumb shit out of grief for the both of us, yeah? Quota’s full.”

Kaldur nods dumbly, and presses their mouths back together. _Nothing stupid_ , he promises with the movement of his mouth against Roy’s, with the hand he draws up and down the archer’s bicep. _At least not tonight._

* * *

Star City has never, in all the time that Kaldur’s known her, been quiet.

It’s typical, of course, that she would pick _tonight_ to start.

“Maybe it’s the storm,” Roy comments as they leap over yet another alleyway. It’s filthy and trash-strewn, placed between a noisome club and cheap liquor store. It’s the kind of alley that you eye as you walk by, carefully but not too carefully, lest you see something you weren’t supposed to. It could have starred in a crime drama, with its grimy, graffiti coated walls and detritus of broken bottles and condom wrappers.

It is also, disappointingly, devoid of criminal activities. Or people in general really. Thinking back, Kaldur can’t think of a time when he hasn’t seen at least two loitering here, either kissing against the wall or doing something much more… explicit. In fact, this very alley is where Kaldur first witnessed the act of oral sex (a night neither he nor Roy will forget; Kaldur because it was, after all, very educational, and Roy because he had never in his life had to explain the logistics of blowjobs to anyone and it’s an experience that neither time nor alcohol have helped him forget).

“We stopped four muggers and a rapist during a torrential downpour last year,” Kaldur reminds him. “It was the most water per hour Star City has ever seen.” Still, he doesn’t argue the point. There’s something in the air tonight, with the clouds on the horizon growing closer and closer. They’re dark and heavy, pregnant with the potential of thunder, of lighting. He’s learned to recognize the smell in the air as the burn of ozone. He can feel the static in his gills, tingling in the webbing between his digits. For him, it's invigorating. It makes him feel wild, alive.

 _Perhaps the effect is different_ , he muses, _on those who have not learned to wield lighting of their own._

Together, they leap from rooftop to rooftop for another hour, searching almost desperately for a sign, any sign, of something that would benefit from their attention.

There’s nothing. The city is holding her breath.

* * *

They’re perched high on a clock tower, overlooking the harbor, when Roy asks the question that’s been nagging at him since they left the observatory.

“What are you planning?”

Kaldur doesn’t appear to hear him. His eyes are fixed, again, on the sky, watching the dark clouds that rush over the horizon, eating up the stars like a cloud of locusts.

Roy nudges closer to him on the roof, swinging his booted foot to bump against Kaldur’s bare one where they dangle over the street. “Kaldur, wake up.”

The man startles from his daydream, sea green eyes snapping to meet Roy’s own.

“Hm?”

Roy sighs, slings an arm around Kaldur’s shoulder, brings him in close so their foreheads touch.

“You’ve been on edge since the observatory. I know storms make you antsy, but something else is up. You’re planning something. What?”

Kaldur sighs, turns his head so Roy’s lips brush his cheek. He seeks out one of Roy’s hands with his own, runs his thumb over the gloved knuckles.

“I need to asking something of you,” he says slowly. “I need for you to be truthful. Do not spare my feelings.”

Roy presses closer. “What is it?” He asks, voice muffled against Kaldur’s cheek.

Kaldur squeezes Roy’s hand in his own, _tight_.

“I need—”

“—yes?” It’s said hopefully, like Roy is anticipating something.

“I need to know if you trust me,” Kaldur exhales, and he doesn’t meet Roy’s eyes, _can’t_.

Roy almost recoils, almost asks ‘What?’ like he couldn’t have heard correctly. As it is he pauses, pulls back a bit, just far enough to take Kaldur in.

The man he loves is balancing on the edge of the roof, poised like he’s ready to leap off of it. There’s tension in the line of his shoulders, stretching in stark, ugly lines up his neck. The line of his mouth is pulled back in a soft grimace, and his eyes stay fixed on the oncoming storm.

It’s like he’s braced for impact, for questions, for Roy to rail into him and demand answers.

For Roy to say, without actually saying it, ‘No’.

The breath Roy takes is deep, deep enough that he feels like he’s breathing in the storm. It doesn’t quell the questions that hover on the tip of his tongue, in the back of his head.

But it's enough to let him keep his silence, for now. He lets it out, a soft, shuddering sigh.

“Yes. Always.”

Kaldur turns—finally—to meet him. He presses his lips to Roy’s own chastely. “I would like to go for a swim.”

Roy startles, looks up, frozen in place as Kaldur gets up to stand on the edge of the roof, looking out towards the harbor a half-mile away. “You wha—,” he starts, and his idiot boyfriend steps off the edge of the roof.

Panicking, Roy leans over the edge, and lets go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he sees that Kaldur has caught himself with his water bearers, pulling water from the atmosphere to cushion his fall.

“Kaldur!” Roy shouts, as the man takes off down the street. He un-slings his bow from his back, launches a zipline arrow to a building in that direction.  “Get back here!”

The peal of Kaldur’s laughter rings loud in the silent street. He looks over his shoulder, sees Roy mounting the line. “Make me!” He shouts back.

Shaking his head, Roy pushes off the roof and follows.

He chases Kaldur like that all the way to the docks, going from zipline to zipline, sprinting across the rooftops.  Eventually he runs out of skyscrapers, though, and he’s forced to drop to the street, rolling to his feet and into a run as he chases the laughing Atlantean.

Huffing, Roy realizes he has no chance of catching Kaldur if he continues to play fair. Kaldur has always been faster than him, once he figured out how to use his insane strength and stamina for running instead of swimming. Pausing for a few precious seconds, Roy sends an arrow flying down the street, towards the Atlantean. It lands at his feet just as the man makes it to the docks, and the arrow head activates, pouring smoke out in front of Kaldur, blinding him. Roy sprints on ahead, to the edge of the dock, and waits for Kaldur to come stumbling out of the smoke.

He’s searching the clearing billows for the dark shape of the other man’s body when a hand shoots up from the water to wrap around his ankle. With a yell, Roy’s pulled off the dock and into the filthy, freezing water.

It fills his nose and mouth as he’s plunged in, sour and stinging. When Roy surfaces, sputtering, he casts about for the perpetrator.

“Where are you, you fishy bastard?” he shouts, twisting about, splashing as he tries to catch a glimpse of his wayward lover. “This water’s fucking freezing!”

“Allow me to warm you,” a low, amused voice breathes in his ear, and strong arms come up around Roy’s waist, holding him afloat.

“It’s fucking _cold_ ,” Roy spits petulantly, leaning back into that warm chest.

“So you’ve said,” Kaldur murmurs, turning Roy to face him.

Kaldur is smiling brightly, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than in this icy, filthy harbor in the middle of a lightning storm. The shadows that have been haunting his eyes on and off all night have finally cleared, and Roy can’t help but let a little bit of his anger at being half-drowned and frozen ebb away.

“Feeling better yet?” he grumbles, wrapping his arms around Kaldur’s shoulders as their legs kick together.

Kaldur’s smile stretches impossibly wider, until it’s a practically a grin. Shaking his head, he leans in, pressing his mouth to Roy’s own.

They kiss like that for what feels like forever, tongues warm in one another’s mouths and the rest of their bodies almost numb with cold.

Roy can taste the pickled ginger they ate after the sushi on Kaldur’s tongue. He chases the sweet sourness of it to the corners of Kaldur’s mouth, runs his tongue over the sharp edges of Kaldur’s unusual molars. He sneaks one hand down the muscled planes of his dark back, up and under his shirt to stroke smooth, warm skin. He can hardly feel a thing, except where his body is pressed close to Kaldur’s relative warmth.

Eventually they part to give Roy air. Kaldur himself is fine, buried up to his lower gills in the chilly water.

Roy presses a kiss to Kaldur’s forehead, at his hairline. “This can’t be good for your gills.”

“It isn’t.”

Another kiss. “I’m cold.”

“I’m sorry.”

Laughter. “No you’re not.”

“I’m sorry that you’re cold, even if I’m not sorry for pulling you into the water.”

Roy shakes his yeah, buries his face in Kaldur’s neck as best as he can. “You can’t be sorry for what happens if you’re not sorry for causing it,” he whispers. “That’s not how it works.”

Kaldur remains silent, mulling this over. “By your logic I cannot be sorry for getting someone hurt if I am not sorry for what I did that hurt them.”

It’s Roy’s turn to be silent for a moment. “I guess,” he says slowly, “It does kind of depend on why you did what you did, doesn’t it? Whether it would have hurt them more, in the end, if you didn’t do what you did.”

They both fall quiet for a bit, treading the icy waters of the harbor. The subject of Roy’s absence, the effect it’s had on all of them, on Oliver and Dinah and the Team and Kaldur himself, stretches out between them. Kaldur knows Roy’s reasons, knows that he can’t allow himself to give up on the original Roy Harper, on Speedy, no matter how much his mad search might damage the relationship between himself and his friends. Roy wouldn’t be the person Kaldur loves if he didn’t try to do what he knows is right. It hurts, but out of everyone, Kaldur understands the best.

He can only hope that Roy will understand when it’s his turn to leave.

The storm clouds rumble overhead as lightning flashes off in the distance, striking the water a mile out. It begins to rain.

“We should probably get out of the water before we get fried,” Roy mutters into Kaldur’s neck.

* * *

With typical courtesy, Kaldur offers to let Roy have the first shower. They’d shower together, except for the small matter of them being unable to bear one another’s temperature preferences. Kaldur favors cool showers, while Roy likes his water hot and scalding. It turns the redhead as bright as a boiled lobster, which Kaldur of course teases him for, but Roy is adamant that it's relaxing. What's relaxing about being boiled alive, Kaldur cannot imagine, so he chalks it up to another difference in their physiologies.

Shaking his head, Roy pushes Kaldur into the bathroom, and turns the water on to cold. “You’ve got all kinds of nasty shit in your gills from the harbor,” he argues, tugging his shirt off and throwing it in a sodden heap on the tile. Kaldur tugs off his own top, hanging it neatly off the empty towel rack. “I still remember the last time you got an infection from swimming there. You go first—I don’t ever want to deal with the Atlantean version of the flu again. I’ll take care of the clothes.”

Shrugging, Kaldur complies, stripping and entering the shower as Roy gathers their sodden clothing and heads, nude, into the kitchen to start the washer. He hums to himself as he washes, careful to clean his gills delicately with the pads of his fingers. By the time he finishes Roy is leaning against the sink, a stack of towels at his side.

“If you can resist taking half an hour,” Kaldur comments to him as he stepped from the shower, taking the towel Roy passes him and wrapping it low on his hips, “I can assure that I will make it worth your while.”

Grinning, Roy grabs Kaldur by the hips, pulling him in until their chests are almost touching. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy purrs, rubbing his thumbs up and down the slick dark skin of Kaldur’s sharp hipbones, dipping just under the towel. Kaldur smiles back, lets his eyes slip shut as he arches up into the touch.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You’re still filthy. Get too close and I will have to bathe again. Then it’ll take even longer.”

Roy leans in close, so close that Kaldur can feel the warmth of his skin radiating off of him. “I’m not too worried,” he says huskily, air puffing warm and moist in Kaldur’s ear. “We’ve got time.”

With that, Roy releases him, pushing him gently back and making his way into the shower. Shaking his head in amusement, Kaldur wanders into the bedroom to wait.  

Coming to the foot of the big bed that takes up the majority of Roy’s small bedroom, Kaldur turns to face the open door of the bathroom. Steam has begun pouring from the shower, further obscuring Roy’s figure that was already blurred by the frosted glass. Kaldur settles on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his arms, eyes lidded as he observes the dark shape scrubbing itself down in the shower. A few minutes tick by, the perfunctory scrubs slow, and the figure begins to sway to inaudible music. Kaldur smiles, small and fond, as with rising volume Roy starts to hum.  The familiar tune of _Come Fly With Me_ reverberates through the room, shifted and warped by the shower but as familiar as the prickling sensation of a zeta ray. 

Sighing happily, Kaldur leans back into the clean white sheets of the bed, closing his eyes to luxuriate in the casual intimacy of the moment. It’d only taken a week of showering together for Roy to become comfortable enough to hum and sing with him there. It’d only taken another week after that for this to become one of Kaldur’s favorite parts of their relationship—lying back, clean and relaxed, just listening to Roy’s low, rough voice as it climbs up and down the scales.

The humming evolves to soft singing, and Kaldur finds himself swaying his dangling feet to the familiar beat. It was one of Roy's favorites—Kaldur first heard him sing it during an ill-fated team karaoke night, years ago. Wally had been trying to sing it, young voice pitchy and cracking on the higher notes, when Roy, frustrated, had plucked the mic from the speedster’s grasp and proceeded to shock the ever-loving hell out of all of them.

Smirking at the memory, Kaldur stretches his arms out over his head, pulling the tension from their (admittedly short) patrol from his body. His fingers brush something soft and, curious, he turns over to see what it is.

It’s a set of the t-shirts and sleep pants he and Roy wear around the apartment, laid out on the pillow, probably by Roy when he was seeing to their uniforms. Kaldur chuckles. He sincerely doubts that they’ll be needing clothes once Roy gets out of the shower. Still, it’s a touching gesture. Something automatic, really. There’s been so many nights in the past when they’ve just been too tired for anything more athletic than sleep, when they’ve just fallen into bed and curled together beneath the sheets. To be honest, the clothes are less for sleeping (they both sleep in the nude, especially when together) and more in case of early morning company, like The Team, Dinah, Oliver, or any of their multitude of friends with more skill in lockpicking than discretion.

It makes something ache in Kaldur’s chest, a pleasant pang, like the tight squeeze of a friendly hand on his shoulder, warm and assuring, that this habit has stuck, despite the distance that’s been growing up between them. He grabs ahold of the shirt, soft and faded with wear, and presses it to his nose, inhales the familiar scent of Roy’s cheap detergent. It fills him up, warming the aching, empty places, leaves the edges of the world soft and blurred. For a moment Kaldur can convince himself, laying on Roy’s bed, listening to Roy’s soft singing, face pressed into Roy’s t-shirt, that maybe they’ll be alright after all.

And then Kaldur stiffens, cold reality washing over him as he remembers that, no. They won’t. If this was a month ago, or even two weeks ago, maybe. If he and Dick hadn’t already realized what had to be done, if Tula wasn’t gone, if Kaldur’s world hadn’t been pulled out from beneath him like the a tablecloth in a cheap party trick.

Kaldur’s grip on the Roy’s shirt tightens, a stranglehold. But this is now. This is Kaldur’s last night as himself, and even if both of them survive what’s coming, there’s no way that they’ll be able to get through this like nothing happened. Not with what Kaldur knows he will have to _do_.

Abruptly, Kaldur hops off the bed and makes for the kitchen, Roy’s shirt still tight in his grasp. He needs a glass of water. He needs to not be in this room, with its mellow light and Roy’s gentle singing hanging in the air like an impossible dream.

“ _Come fly with me, we’ll fly away--_ ”

Roy’s quiver is on the kitchen counter. The sight of it reminds Kaldur of one of the things he’d promised himself he’d do before he left. Listening intently to make sure the shower is still running, he pauses the washing machine. Rummaging around, he finds his sodden uniform bottoms, unzips one of the secret pockets to retrieve a small, flexible, waterproof chip. Still listening for the shower, Kaldur empties Roy’s quiver, careful to avoid triggering any of the many booby traps that Roy uses to guard his arrows against curious thieves or certain feline assassins.

Prying away the sticky backing from the chip, Kaldur presses it to the bottom of the quiver, where it blends in perfectly with the black leather lining. The thing glows briefly, signalling that it is activated and secure.

There. Now Kaldur will be able to keep tabs on Roy while he is… gone.  Just in case his friend decided to drop off the face of the earth again. He’d already discussed it with Dick—they would both have the frequency needed to tune into the tracker, and if anything happens Dick will deal with it. It’s a necessary measure, if they can realistically expect Kaldur to keep his focus. He’s lost too much in the past month, and he’s about throw away even more for the sake of this mission. But he can’t—losing Roy to this chase, to the ghosts that haunt him, or to the very real addiction that still dogs the archer’s heels even now, two years into sobriety—it would be too much to bear.

The tracker is a small betrayal. The first, Kaldur acknowledges, of many. It's selfish of him, this extra assurance. It's a violation of Roy’s privacy, of his trust, and it's one that can’t be reasoned away by expediency.

But though the guilt weighs heavy in him, a lead ball in his stomach, it doesn’t stop him from putting the arrows back exactly in order, from replacing the quiver neatly and re-starting the washer.

Taking a moment to lean against the washer and breathe, Kaldur’s eyes catch on a slip of paper on the counter. Curious, he investigates.

 

Kaldur shakes his head, awed, because this—

—This is something new. Something _good._

No one had known the Roy had stopped using heroin until Dinah had discovered him passed out over his toilet after three days of radio-silence. He hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t reached out for support. The stubborn fool had just flushed everything down the drain, erased his dealer’s number out of his phone, and deposited his needles at a center before locking himself in his apartment alone while his body went through hell.

As far as Kaldur knows, Roy has never been to a meeting, or had any support beyond what Kaldur, Oliver, and Dinah were able to force on him.

Now he’s reaching out, on his own accord. Frankly, it's a miracle.

And it puts Kaldur on edge, because he can tell it's the start of... _something._

Looking around the apartment, Kaldur begins to notice small changes. A full fridge, an updated calendar, a flyer for a rock concert two months away. There’s a full set of dishes in the cabinet, and a _plant_ on the windowsill.

_“Don’t worry, Mei, we’ll be around a little more often from now on.”_

_“I’ve just been getting some priorities in order.”_

_“You know I’d be lost without you, right?”_

Kaldur’s throat constricts, tight and painful, and he can’t _breathe_.

Leaning against the counter, Kaldur stares unseeingly at the flyer.

 _He means it. He’s really going to stay._ Kaldur gasps in a breath, lets it shudder out of him. His hands tighten on the linoleum countertop, threaten to crack it. _Of course he would pick now_ , he thinks, reeling. Tonight had been _good_ , but Kaldur had never, not for a moment, really thought that Roy was going to _stay_. How could he, after five years of this madness? Betraying the League for the mission was never going to be easy, but until now Kaldur at least had the comfort that he wasn’t really leaving anyone _behind_.

Kaldur has never, in all of his life, thought of himself as someone else’s anchor. For everyone he’s loved, there’s always been something else, _someone_ else, for them to lean on. He had thought Roy would continue as he has till now, adrift at sea, chasing ghosts with Cheshire. Never mind that the thought made something mournful and awful, sticky-black with jealousy and hurt rise up in Kaldur’s chest. Kaldur has never doubted that Roy cares for him, but that Roy didn’t _need_ him was something he’d been _counting on_. No matter that the radio silences, the weeks of not knowing if Roy was dead or alive, had kept him up night to night for years.

But now Roy’s trying to come back into harbor, and he’s counting on _Kaldur_ to guide him. A mistake that, when he discovers what Kaldur has supposedly done, will leave him smashed on the rocks.

The weight of it is too much to bear.

 _Of course he would pick now_ , Kaldur thinks again, tears prickling hot and uncomfortable behind his eyes. _He wouldn’t be Roy fucking Harper if he didn’t pick **now**. _

Trembling, Kaldur sucks in a breath. And then another, and another, and another, until he manages to get ahold of himself.

 _I need to call it off_ , he thinks, blood rushing hot and loud in his ears. _I need to tell Dick I need more time. I can’t leave after this, not yet._

 _Or at least_ , the thought occurs to him as he turns to rest his elbows on the counter, leaning back and facing the fridge, _I could tell him. I know Dick and I agreed to tell no one, I know it's foolish, but—_

The picture pinned to the fridge catches Kaldur’s eyes and the train of thought crashes to a halt.

It’s the Team. Not just the first Team, the original six. It’s _his_ Team, all of them. Wally, Dick, and Connor stand to the back, Dick’s arms slung over both their shoulders. Wally’s arms are draped around Artemis, who’s hugging Zatanna, who’s being hugged by Raquel on the other side. M’gann stands next to them, Connor’s arms draped over her own shoulders and Gar trapped in a tight hug. Roy and himself stand to one side, arms crossed in a fake attempt at seriousness. On the other— _Tula_. Tula and Garth, fingers intertwined. Tula’s soft green eyes, full of that teasing light, look back at him from the photo, from the past, her teasing smirk exactly as he remembers.

A sob wrenches itself from Kaldur’s chest. It was such a short time ago, that they were whole.

That _he_ was whole.

 _No_ , he admonishes himself, eyes fixed on Tula’s. It hurts _so_ much, to have lost her. If the Light is not dealt with, he will lose _everything_ , including Roy. There’s no more time to waste. Too much is at risk to tell Roy, when he insists on searching the shadows, on trusting one of their agents and letting her into his heart. Kaldur has never begrudged Roy that, has always acknowledged that there are spaces in Roy’s heart that he can’t fill even as there are spaces in his own that Roy can never hope to touch. Part of Roy has always belonged to the shadows just as part of Kaldur has always belonged to Atlantis.

 _But it does mean that I cannot tell him_ , he reminds himself, squeezing his eyes shut. He covers his mouth with his hands, clamping down harshly on a second sob that wells up like blood from a wound. _There is too much at risk, and if he were ever captured—_

Warm hands cover his own. “Hey, you okay?”

Kaldur’s eyes fly open, shock wide, to meet Roy’s own concerned blue. The redhead had entered the room, stepping into Kaldur’s space when he saw the Atlantean hunched over himself on the counter.

Kaldur buries his face in his hands, mortified. This is their last night—it was going so _well_. This, crying like a child, thinking about Tula and what’s coming with the sun when it rises—tonight had been everything that Kaldur wanted for them, and here he is _ruining_ it.

A hiccup rises in his chest, irrepressible.

“Hey, hey,” Roy says softly, big hands circling Kaldur’s wrists, drawing his hands gently away from his face. Roy moves in, pressing Kaldur into the counter. Kaldur’s eyes stay fixed on the floor, counting the small tiles as an excuse to avoid Roy’s gaze. “Kaldur, Kal—it’s okay, it’s fine,” Roy murmurs, wrapping a strong arm around Kaldur’s shoulders, pressing his warm bare skin to Kaldur’s own, drawing the other man in towards his chest. Kaldur goes stiffly, arms hanging useless at his sides as Roy gathers him in.

Roy holds him like that, pressing closed-mouth kisses into his hair and murmuring soft reassurances. Slowly, Kaldur’s shoulders stop shaking. He manages a breath, and then another, and another, reestablishing control.

After a long moment, Roy’s hand is beneath Kaldur’s chin, tilting his face gently upwards. Roy cups his cheek in one hand, wipes away the tears gathering at sea green eyes with his thumb, smoothing gently across the high jut of his cheekbone.

 _What do you need?_ , Roy asks with his gaze, and Kaldur, suddenly certain of the answer, presses their lips together.

Roy kisses him carefully, lips moving tenderly and chaste against his own, like Kaldur is something delicate and breakable. Frustrated, Kaldur wraps his arms around Roy’s shoulders, draws him in deeper. He needs something to hold onto, because he can feel the world rushing fast, too fast around him, a riptide. His world has become maelstrom and he has set himself _adrift_.

Roy goes easily when Kaldur pulls him in tight, lets the Atlantean bury his face in his neck and pretends he can’t feel the hot tears, almost hot enough to be human, as they leak out against his skin. He strokes up and down Kaldur’s smooth, strong bare back and hushes softly into his golden lamb’s wool hair. He holds him, and Kaldur _lets_ him, and Roy doesn’t say he’s sorry. Sorry that he hasn’t been here, hasn’t been what Kaldur needs, because Kaldur knows and Roy knows that sorry isn’t what Kaldur needs to hear.

“I’m here now,” Roy says into Kaldur’s hair instead, voice choked with emotion. He tightens his arms around the other man, a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here, I promise, I promise I’m _here_ and I won’t leave you, not again, I _promise_.” Roy’s throat is tight and his voice cracks, on promise, and he’s holding Kaldur as much for his own sake as anything.

“I was so scared,” Roy confesses lowly, “I was so scared when Dick finally got a hold of me. And I’ve almost lost you so many times, Kal, but you always come out of it and I think I convinced myself that you were invincible. But, God, when Dick called I was so _scared_.”

They hold one another against the counter, bare ass naked, the sharp edge of it digging into Kaldur’s back. It should feel ridiculous, two grown men holding each other like children as late night ticks away into the wee hours of the morning.

Kaldur breaths deep, buried in the crook of Roy’s neck, takes in the clean scent of him, and feels something in his chest start to mend.

Slowly, automatically and without thinking, he presses a kiss into the soft, vulnerable skin there. And then another, and another, until he’s wrapping his arms around Roy’s broad shoulders and pulling him down into his mouth because, he doesn’t know _when_ or _if_ he’ll ever get to have this again and—they needed this moment, Poseidon knows they _needed_ this moment, but it’s not all they need, not by a longshot.  

Roy’s hesitant at first, arms still and stiff around his shoulders and Kaldur knows that he’s trying to be sensitive, and it’s _sweet_ , it is, but it’s not what he’s looking for. So Kaldur presses his mouth, hot and open, to Roy’s own, pushes his tongue against those chapped lips. He backs further into the counter, dragging Roy with him so their hips press together, drags the nails of one hand in a line of fire down Roy’s back.

And then Roy’s pressing himself against Kaldur, hard, like their bodies couldn’t be close enough. He surges into the kiss because this is _Kaldur_ , Kaldur kissing him, Kaldur clinging to him and grinding against his hip.  Kaldur dragging his fingers down Roy’s back just _so_ , and Roy trembles as desire awakens in him, at the flash-hot pain-pleasure of nails breaking his skin.  

Roy moves his hands to Kaldur’s hips, presses his thumbs into the sensitive muscles there as he thrusts his tongue into Kaldur’s mouth, hot and demanding. Kaldur yelps, a quiet half-pained noise, and his hips squirm as Roy massages the line of his pelvis, digging into the flesh behind his hipbones.

They continue kissing, mouths hot and open against each other. Roy slides a hand down the smooth, muscular length of Kaldur’s thigh, hooks under it and draws one long leg up and around his hip so he can press closer, rut their hard lengths together. Kaldur wraps his leg around Roy’s back, pulls him in tight. He creeps one hand up the back of Roy’s reddening neck, twists it in the wet curls of his hair, pulling the man’s head back so Kaldur can latch onto his throat. Kaldur scrapes his teeth against Roy’s Adam’s apple, bringing up red bruises.

He works his way downstream, full lips soft and teeth sharp as he leaves a line of flowering marks all the way to the join of Roy’s neck and shoulder, where he latches on, sucking and biting _hard_.

“You little shark,” Roy laughs, breathless, one hand coming up to grip the nape of Kaldur’s neck, pulling him up and away from his prize. Roy grins as Kaldur pouts up at him, kiss-swollen lips pursed in fake annoyance. “Let’s see how you like it,” Roy purrs, and leans down to lick a searing stripe up Kaldur’s gills.

The Atlantean’s knee gives out, sending him collapsing back against the counter as he pants, breathless. Roy presses his advantage, pressing sloppy wet open mouthed kisses against his skin. Kaldur’s whole body shakes as he clings to Roy, eyes slipping shut as he tries to reign himself in. Roy’s tongue slips, sly as a thief, beneath the flap of a gill, running delicately down the tender flesh there, lighting up nerves. Kaldur grunts, the sensation so intense it borders on painful, and feels the press of teeth as Roy grins victoriously.

Rallying, Kaldur surges up against Roy’s hips, draws his finger down to scrape at the top of Roy’s ass, nails sharp pinpricks of sensation. Moaning, Roy rests his sweaty forehead against Kaldur’s neck, breath scattering warm against his collarbone. Smirking, Kaldur bring his other leg up, rocks his thigh against Roy’s hardness, grinding roughly. Roy moans, hands tightening on Kaldur’s neck and hip, grip bruising. Kaldur feels a sudden rush of possessiveness, presses up harder, knee stroking up under Roy’s sack, forcing the other man to practically fuck his thigh. He surges up into that bruising grip, pulls Roy’s mouth down against his collarbone, praying for bruises, for marks, for something to remember Roy by because this might be the last time Kaldur ever gets to have him like this.

Shifting more of his weight against the counter, Kaldur brings his other thigh up, pretzeling his legs around Roy’s waist, nails digging into his shoulders. Roy wraps one steel corded arm around Kaldur’s lower back, presses their hips together while his other hand squirms between their bodies, encircles their dicks in his hot slick palm and starts jacking them. His strokes are slow and sure, too slow for Kaldur who ruts up and buries his teeth and Roy’s shoulder and moans with frustration, who grabs Roy’s hand from around his waist and pushes it down, down to grab his ass, pressing Roy’s callused palm across his own flesh.

“I think it is time we make a tactical retreat to the bedroom,” Kaldur pants against him between eager, open kisses. “As lovely as your hand is, my friend, it’s not all I want from you tonight.”

Roy presses one more blistering, sucking kiss to Kaldur’s neck. “As you wish,” he breathes against his ear, before getting his arms under Kaldur’s thighs, fingers digging into the round globes of his ass to support his weight. Lifting Kaldur from the counter, Roy staggers back, walking backwards to the bedroom, Kaldur clinging like a limpet and kissing him the whole of the short trip.

They get to the bed and Roy dumps him unceremoniously onto the sheets, is on him in an instant, pressing the whole length of their bodies together. He rises, slips one knee between Kaldur’s thighs, spreading them as he presses up against Kaldur’s dick.

Kaldur groans, rocks them together so Roy’s dick is sliding in the hollow of his hip, hot and slick and perfect and leaking. Roy’s mouth in on his again in an instant, hands stroking up and down his sides, long fingers dancing on his ribs. Kaldur wraps his arms tight around Roy’s shoulder, presses him down into the kiss so hard it _hurts_.

“Missed this,” Roy pants against him, rutting down into the soft skin of his hip. “Missed _you_.”

Then Roy’s making his way down Kaldur’s chest, pressing licks and bites, scraping his teeth on the curvature of Kaldur’s muscles while Kaldur shudders. Roy stops to bite at the jut of Kaldur's hipbone, nipping and sucking the dark skin to bring up darker bruises, brings them blooming up like flowers. Kaldur moans, twines his fingers tight in Roy’s sweat damp hair, pushes him down, down to the ache between his legs.

While Kaldur may be no fan of hot water, he’s definitely a fan of the scorching heat of Roy’s mouth as he wraps his lips around Kaldur’s dick, of the warmth of his palms as Roy’s hands press his hips flat against the sheets. Roy wastes no time teasing, shifting his grip on Kaldur’s hips and urging Kaldur’s legs over his shoulder before taking the whole of his length, deep throating him. One hand stays steady on his hip, pinning Kaldur in place despite the man’s squirming. The other drifts down, trailing down past his sack to work his perineum. Roy presses his thumb down lightly, a teasing pressure that has Kaldur rutting down and burying his face in the sheets.

“Roy, please—“ Kaldur gasps wetly, drool pooling in his mouth as he tries to breath. Roy runs the hot flat of his tongue down the underside of Kaldur’s dick, tracing the sensitive veins there, bobbing up and down slowly, lips slick. Kaldur’s hands tighten in the man’s hair and it takes everything he has not to pull him forward, to fuck roughly into that searing mouth.

Roy continues, mouth hot and fingers teasing, until Kaldur’s thighs begin to tremble around his head. Smirking around him— _how does he **do** that_ , Kaldur wonders—Roy takes him in deep, throat muscles working rhythmically, and presses down _hard_ with his thumb, eliciting a full body spasm from Kaldur as pleasure bursts through him, inside and out.

Kaldur’s orgasm is hot and quick as lightning, tingling liquid pleasure that shoots from his spine to his toes to the tips of his fingers, lighting up his tattoos in a brief flare.

Swallowing, Roy pulls off with a _pop_ , petting Kaldur’s heaving flanks as the other man comes down from the high. “Hey, still with me?” he rasps, voice ragged. Carefully, he leans over Kaldur, stretching to open the drawer of the nightstand, fishes out the lube and a condom.

Kaldur hums in response, arm thrown up over his eyes. Roy’s warm hand caresses his thigh, eliciting a full body shiver. The sensation of skin and pressure—of the light hairs on Roy’s thighs brushing against his own water-smoothed skin where Roy kneels between his parted legs—is almost too much, the overstimulation from orgasm magnifying every simple touch.

“That good, huh—ouch!” Roy catches Kaldur’s ankle in one hand, rubbing his stinging ear where Kaldur kicked him. “That was uncalled for,” he pouts, and Kaldur can’t help the silly grin that ruins the glower he’s trying to direct at his annoying boyfriend.

“You are ruining my afterglow,” he replies, prim. “Also, are you aware that smug makes you look constipated?”

Roy laughs, scooching up the bed to part Kaldur’s thighs with his knees, pulling his lovers hip up into his lap. “Even less called for,” he snipes, burying a slick finger into Kaldur, working in deep.  “Also, _gross_ ,” he admonishes, crooking his finger to press down _hard_ on Kaldur’s prostate.

“Says— _ahh_ —the one with his finger buried in my— _Poseidon_ , that’s good.” Kaldur’s panting, pleasure tingling up his spine, heat pooling in his stomach. It’s hard to breathe, even though it’s just one finger, because everything is electrified and oversensitive, and perfect, and the way Roy grins down at him, feline and satisfied, as he crooks that finger in again, is making him lose his depths damned _mind_.

“I could stop,” Roy suggests, evil, and he presses down and sends another wave rippling through Kaldur, driving the breath from him so all Kaldur can do is close his eyes and bury his face in the sodden sheets and groan because, gods, he can’t _think_ like this.

Soon there’s a second finger working into him and it feels so good, too good. Kaldur’s breath is catching in his chest, half-sobs, and he’s trying not to squirm away from Roy, from the press of those fingers and the acute pleasure of them. Instead he forces his hips up into Roy’s slow thrusting, tries to make it go faster but _apparently_ somewhere along the way Roy decided he wanted to take his time, the _bastard_.

Just when he thinks he can’t stand any more of it, because now it's three fingers in him and stretch and burn of it is lending the pleasure an edge that cuts through Kaldur’s sanity like a knife through butter, the fingers are gone. He almost sighs with relief, but then his hips are being hauled up, high into Roy’s lap and before he knows it the redhead is hunched over him and his face is pressing down into Kaldur’s _ass_ , soft red hair brushing his spread thighs and oh gods Kaldur can’t even _breathe_.

Kaldur flexes his grip on the sheets and squirms, pushing up into the slick, agile press of Roy's tongue, shivering all over again at the sensual feel of it. The penetration isn’t what gets to him when Roy does this, not really, nor does it have anything to do with his prostate because, honestly, Roy’s tongue would have to be much longer to even reach there. It’s the slide of that slippery, pliant muscle over and against and _into_ the delicate, sensitive flesh down there does all kinds of wonderful things to his nerves and Kaldur will privately admit that he loves it. Even if he can never let Roy know how _much_ he loves it, if he ever wants to be allowed out of this bedroom and from under Roy’s tongue again.

 _On second thought_ , he thinks hazily, as Roy’s calloused thumbs dip in, pry open the warm loose whorl of muscle and he presses his tongue, searing, into him, _that may not be so terrible a fate._

One of Roy’s arms wraps under Kaldur’s hips, an iron band of support under him, and then fingers are working into him, side by side with his wicked tongue. Kaldur’s hands twist in the sheets and he buries his face in a pillow, smothering a sob that wrenches itself from him at the firm pressure of long fingers as Roy presses in, rubbing in tight hard circles. The torture goes on for minutes, maybe hours, before Roy pulls back, chin shining with saliva, pupils blown wide so all that’s left is a bright ring of blue as he stares down at Kaldur, admiring his work.

Kaldur pants into the sheets, turns his head to meet Roy’s gaze. They stick to his face, damp with sweat and saliva. His gills flutter, trying uselessly to supplement his oxygen supply as his chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths.

“You are a monster,” Kaldur asserts, glaring weakly. It’s hard to take him seriously, Roy thinks, with his golden lashes drooping over his eyes, the dark flush high on his cheeks giving away just how _wrecked_ he is.

Roy grins, unrepentant, crooks his fingers so Kaldur’s lashes flutter, his full mouth opens with a half-choked gasp. "How you feelin there, fish sticks?"

Kaldur groans, eyes shut, and rocks up into Roy’s fingers, drives himself a little higher. "Your preparations are, as usual, entirely excessive."

"Just want to make you feel good, beautiful," Roy says, the teasing edge to his voice belied by open eyed honesty, the reassuring way his arm tightens around Kaldur’s hips.

Kaldur opens his eyes again, looks up at Roy’s tender expression. “Roy, I will not _break_ ,” he says, exasperated. “You’ve seen what I can handle—more than you, unless you’ve suddenly gained invulnerability while traipsing through China.”

Roy shakes his head, leans down to take Kaldur’s mouth in a soft kiss. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be gentle,” he says softly, fingers stroking Kaldur’s hip. “ Someone should be gentle with you, Kaldur—God knows you never are.”

Unwanted thoughts linger on the edge of Kaldur’s consciousness. He breaths out, banishes them ruthlessly. “I don’t _need_ gentle, Roy.”

Another soft kiss, the press of warm skin as Roy pulls them impossibly close. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

 _I want a lot of things_ , Kaldur thinks, exasperation growing even as he arches up into the contact. “What I want is for you to _fuck_ me.”

Roy laughs, withdraws his fingers, _finally_ , wipes them on the sheets. “We’ll get there, beautiful,” he purrs, caresses up Kaldur’s sides. “Let’s take our time.”

Kaldur untwists his fingers from the sheets, reaches down between their bodies to palm Roy roughly. “A month is _quite_ long enough to wait,” he gripes.

Roy’s eyes slide shut, his hips arching into the smooth, sweat slick skin of Kaldur’s hand. “Oh is that how it is?”

“ _Yes_.”

And then Kaldur’s legs are wrapped firmly around Roy’s waist, and with a twist of his hips Kaldur flips them, pins Roy beneath him. He laces their fingers together, _tight_ , tight enough to stretch his webbing, tight enough to _hurt_. The hot length of Roy’s slick, condom covered cock rides the crack of his ass, and Kaldur grinds down into it, makes Roy’s hips stutter helplessly upward. “If you insist on being reticent, then I will take matters into my own hands.”

Roy groans weakly, squeezes Kaldur’s hands in his own. “Not to complain, but I hope it's not your hands you’re planning on using.”

And Kaldur has to pause, has to swallow air and breath, because all jokes aside Roy’s looking up at him, eyes shining and blue with adoration. He’s looking at Kaldur like he hung the moon, like he’s perfect, and all that Kaldur can think to do is squeeze his hands tighter and lift himself up with his thighs, press down so Roy’s blunt head catches on his rim, press down _harder_ and sink _down_.

And gods, _gods_ it feels so _good_. Kaldur’s arms give out and he collapses on Roy’s chest, falls bodily into him and buries his face into Roy’s hot neck. Kaldur allows himself three deep breaths, and then Roy twitches, _up_ , his control snapping, and Kaldur allows himself a fourth, then he releases Roy’s hands to prop himself on the bed and push up, and down, driving Roy into himself.

Roy’s hands are on him, hard and tight on his hips and he’s thrusting up, feet braced on the bed.  His eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide, and his breath comes out in little _ah ah ahs_ as he thrusts into Kaldur, the hot length of him driving in out in out and it feels so _good._ Like it's taking up all the empty space that’s opened up in the pit of Kaldur’s chest.  It’s all Kaldur can do to keep his weight off of Roy, to rise up and down in shallow little thrusts to meet him.

Kaldur leans back, hands braced on Roy’s hard thick thighs, changes the angle to better reach that spot deep inside of him. Pleasure runs through him, a warm humming buzz punctuated by star-hot spikes as they move together, work into one another.

They move like that, smooth and rolling, until Kaldur’s thighs start to tremble, till the pleasure is like a hook behind his stomach, pulling him forward. He leans back down into Roy, lets the redhead kiss him, all hot commanding tongue. Roy’s hands migrate back, running down the perfect swell of Kaldur’s hips to the smooth roundness of his ass. Roy grasps him there, squeezes hard. A thrill shoots up Kaldur’s spine, a filthy shock of delight as Roy grips him, spreads him. It’s the end of him, the tipping point, and Kaldur’s coming again, shuddering and shaking, breath sobbing out of him and tears stinging at his eyes because, gods, it’s so good and Roy’s not _done_.

Roy flips them again, presses Kaldur’s thighs open, pushes them back, up to his ears, bends his lover in half. Fucks Kaldur through the aftershocks, gentle and relentless. Half-mad with sensation, Kaldur fixates on Roy’s arms around him, how the muscles of his biceps strain in sharp relief as they cage him in. On the iron strength of those arms as they pull him open and apart, expose him to Roy as he shudders and trembles.

Roy’s thrusts are slow, painfully slow, because he’s trying to get some control back here.  He shuts his eyes, tight, doesn’t dare look at Kaldur beneath him. He knows what he’ll see, what Kaldur looks like when he’s panting through his second orgasm. The darker flush of Kaldur’s skin, the bright line of his gold lashes against the sharp high lines of his cheekbones, the way his tattoos glow softly, just barely perceptible, against his skin. Roy is intimate with the beauty of his lover’s open mouth and kiss swollen lips as he pants, the angle of his jaw and the delicacy of his neck with his head thrown back against the white pillows. The perfect swell of his hips, the smooth roundness of his ass, the way it fills Roy’s hands, the thrill that goes up the other man’s spine when Roy grips him, spreads him.

It’s hard enough to keep it together, Roy thinks, _with those fucking sounds he makes_. The soft gaps, the half-choked cries. There’s no way that he’d survive the visuals, too.

And he needs to survive, to hang on a little longer, because he doesn’t want tonight to end. Sad nude kitchen cuddling and nearly drowning in the harbor, of all places, aside, it’s been a good one. Probably the best one in a year, if he’s honest with himself.

And there’s something, some small feeling in the back of his mind, like the prickle on the back of your neck you get when someone’s about to plunge a knife in your back, that’s setting him on edge. Telling him to drag this out, as long as possible, because there’s been a look in Kaldur’s eyes all night that he doesn’t like. Because he never really found out what was going on, never got a real answer out of Kaldur before the little bastard leapt off the roof. His boyfriend is a master of avoidance, Roy knows from years of experience, and he can tell that the Atlantean is hiding something.

And Roy’s worried, but Kaldur’s falling to pieces beneath him in the best way, so he resolves to leave it till the morning. So he grits his teeth against the scorching heat of Kaldur around him, the tightness of him as his oversensitive body clenches _down_.  Just focuses on making those hot choked sounds come out of Kaldur’s throat because they’re _beautiful_ and he thinks if they’re all he ever heard for the rest of his life he’ll die a happy man.

Kaldur groans, tries to push his hips up, and the angle of Roy’s cock inside him is _exquisite_ and he's practically numb from the pleasure. His battered prostate keeps sending pleasure signals to his nervous system but his poor sensory-overloaded body just doesn't know what to do with them. Roy’s going tortuously slow,  pushes on towards his own end. A spark of mischief makes itself known, and Kaldur smiles, open mouth and panting. “Roy, Roy, Roy,” he gasps, because he knows it drives the redhead mad, and squeezes his exhausted inner muscles, tightening down on Roy’s thrusting dick inside of him.

“Kaldur—” Roy gasps, rhythm faltering. He lets down Kaldur’s legs, which have gone numb, and bends closer,  leaning on one elbow and wrapping the other arm beneath the small of Kaldur’s back, supporting and lifting Kaldur's hips. He's thrusting faster now, pace picking up as he gets closer and closer to the edge.

Kaldur regards him through lidded eyes, takes in the sharp relief of his musculature, the way his stomach flexes, how his muscular ass tightens as he moves forward forward-back-forward back, the way his red hair darkens with sweat. Roy’s eyes are still shut, tight, red-gold lashes bright against the pale skin around his eyes.

 _I will miss this_ , Kaldur thinks, breath catching in his chest, taking him in, the uneven tan of his skin, that light smattering of freckles, nigh invisible, the appear on his shoulders and collarbone as they move together, work into each other.   _Gods above and below, I will **miss** this. _

Kaldur surges up, drags Roy into a kiss. They gasp wetly into each other’s mouths, Kaldur putting the last of his energy into taking Roy’s mouth with his own. He licks into the moist open warmth of him, laps up every panting breath.  He can smell himself on Roy's face as they kiss, the intimacy of it striking him to the core. He moves one hand from those broad shoulders and into the mess of Roy’s hair, red against his dark fingers, and pulls him in.

“Roy, _alieros_ , look,” Kaldur breathes, and Roy _does_.  His eyes open, lashes fluttering, pupils blown wide so a bare bright rim of blue is all that’s left. Kaldur holds him, in his gaze and in his arms, and the love in those green eyes is so bare and naked and Roy can’t hang on anymore, he _can’t._

Roy  arms tremble with exertion as he nears the end, and Kaldur kisses him tenderly while Roy pistons wildly, then slows, comes  to a shuddering halt, groaning and gasping into Kaldur’s mouth as he finishes at last.

Roy collapses on him, mouth buried in the hot sweat slick crook of Kaldur’s neck, buried carefully to avoid brushing Kaldur’s gills, which Roy knows from experience are so sensitive as to be painful right now. Kaldur holds him tight, strokes his damp hair and down the smooth plane of his back as Roy catches his breath.

“Welcome back, my dear,” Kaldur says softly, and the most Roy can bring his exhausted body to do is press a chaste kiss to one of the dark bruises on Kaldur’s neck.

Soon enough, Roy pulls out, both of them wincing as he does, and removes and ties off the condom, tossing it over his shoulder with ridiculous if predictable accuracy into the wastebin by the bathroom door. Kaldur pulls him down immediately, and then they’re rearranging their limbs until Roy’s curled up around Kaldur, legs tucked up into the other man’s knees and arms draped over his waist and chest.

They lay there, basking in the afterglow, until their eyes start to droop. As Kaldur feels his mind slip away, to sleep, to one final moment of warm, comfortable peace, he feels more than hears Roy whisper _‘I love you’_ against his hairline.

He pulls Roy’s arms tighter around himself in response, and wishes, hopelessly, _desperately_ , that he never had to let go.

* * *

 When Roy wakes up he’s alone, which is a little annoying. The spot next to him on the bed is cool, which means that Kaldur left a while ago. The sun’s just barely coming in through the windows, so it's also kinda weird. Kaldur’s always been an early riser, but usually he sleeps in after a night like they just had.

It stings Roy’s ego, just a bit, that the other man has already left, considering Roy had thought he’d tired the Atlantean out.

Pulling on a pair of boxers, Roy pads into the kitchen, noting the lack of coffee. Kaldur had left in  a hurry then. _Probably got called out for a mission_ , Roy grumps to himself, pouting as he rummages in the fridge for eggs. It would make sense, on further reflection. Kaldur never wakes Roy when he has to leave on a mission—the other hero always assumes that Roy would rather sleep than say good-bye, despite Roy having asserted several times to the contrary.

 _Typical Kaldur_ , Roy thinks, cracking eggs into a frying pan before turning to start the coffee. _Always trying to give people what he thinks they want, but completely at a loss when that turns out to be him._

Roy eats his eggs and sips his coffee in silence, contemplating the concert flyer on the counter. He hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Kaldur to go with him, last night. Something to remember once the Atlantean gets back from his mission, he decides.

It’s ten in the morning when Dick calls.

“Hey,” Roy answers. “What’s up?”

“Can you tell your boyfriend to wake up and get over here?” Dick replies, tone casual. “We’re kind of waiting on our team leader to start combatants training.”

Roy frowns. “Kaldur left before I got up. Thought he was with you guys.”

“Weird,” Dick dismisses, but something in his tone makes Roy’s hand tighten around his mug. “He’s definitely not here. I tried calling his com and I got nothing. I’d thought he’d shut it off so you two wouldn’t get, _ah_ , disrupted.” And Dick’s teasing, yeah, and he doesn’t sound worried, but something tightens in the pit of Roy’s stomach, because this feels _wrong_.

“Kaldur never shuts his com off on our dates,” Roy says, and he can hear the irritated anxiety building in his own voice despite himself. “He worries too much about you nerds—always afraid you might blow up the Cave if he’s not available twenty-four seven.”

“So that rules out the possibility that he just forgot to turn it off,” Dick replies, and now the anxiety’s growing in his voice, too. “Look, Roy, I’m going to see if I can’t track him with the League GPS. I’ll get back to you, okay?” And then he hangs up, before Roy has time to respond.

So he sits, tense, coffee cooling in front of him, until a text comes in ten minutes later.

  * _Nightwing:_ no luck
  * _Nightwing:_ contacting Bman
  * _Nightwing:_ will keep u updated



Roy’s mind snaps, immediately, to the roof, to the question Kaldur posed to him while staring out at the oncoming storm.

_"Do you trust me?"_

_You idiot_ , Roy thinks, burying his head in his hands. _What have you done now?_

And the eggs settle like a rubber ball in Roy’s stomach, because he thinks he knows that, whatever it is, it's nothing _good_.

 _He would pick now_ , Roy thinks to himself. It’d taken months to pull himself back out of the shadows. Kaldur had _needed_ him, and he’d finally realized that he needed Kaldur, and he’d used that to pull himself back. Because Kaldur’s hurting, and wounded, and even if he doesn’t realize it Roy knows that what Kaldur needs right now is to be around people who love him. So Roy came back.

And now Kaldur’s missing, and Roy has a feeling that he’s not coming home any time soon.

 _Of course it’d be now_ , Roy thinks, and buries a hysteric giggle in the skin of his arm. _He wouldn’t be Kaldur if he didn’t pick **now**_.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the harbor lights  
> They only told me we were parting  
> The same old harbor lights that once brought you to me  
> I watched the harbor lights  
> How could I help if tears were starting  
> Goodbye to tender nights beside the silv'ry sea  
> -The Platters, "Harbor Lights"


End file.
